Look! I'm updating and it hasn't even been a month yet! I would like to thank all you lovely people who are still reading even though I am such a fickle updater. I love you, and you make writing so much more fun. Please review!
Madeleine walked down the dirt road toward her house. She didn't mind the walk. She liked the feeling of early morning air – the mist hiding the fullness of things. Everything was a skeleton of itself. Trees were just curved outlines of trunks, tops obscured by the cloud settled over the road. The sun had just begun to reach through, permeating a warmth through the air. She picked up her skirt to keep it off the mud of the road, not minding much if just her shoes splashed through it.
When she saw the house, she almost stopped walking, fingers clenching into fists. It looked just like she remembered. Rising out of the dirt in straight lines – sturdy, if not particularly beautiful. The field behind the house was bare. The fence between the house and the road was falling apart. The stakes were rotting, many of the rails only attached at one end now. She didn't want to go back.
But she had no choice. If she didn't go now, her father would just come inquiring again. Maybe request to speak to her at the castle, and he'd probably be angrier then. It was better just to have it over with. It wasn't like she actually had anything to tell him.
With a sigh, she turned into the drive, put her hands on the familiar wooden gate and pushed it open. She walked slowly to the doorway and wondered if she ought to knock. That would be a little ridiculous, wouldn't it? It was her house.
Before she could reach for the doorknob, it opened, and her father stood in the doorframe. "Madeleine," he said, "you're earlier than I expected."
She looked up at his dark eyes and hair, the smooth perfection of his clothing. He didn't look tired, though it was early morning. She doubted any of the rest of them were awake, except Lane and Sara. It was interesting to learn her father was a morning person. She had no idea.
"I thought I'd come early," she said. "Get this over, so I can do something with my day." She intended to find Simon and spend the day with him, watching his geese, or maybe go into town and spend an hour or two with Myron.
"Well, come in," her father said, stepping out of her way.
She followed him inside and was surprised when he led her up the staircase and then to the second room on the right – his private study. She could only remember being there a few times in her entire life. That didn't make it a privilege, though. Each time, she'd been called in for a business-like conversation in which he barely looked at her. Now, as then, she found her eyes moving around the room, trying to take in everything. The walls were lined with bookshelves, but none of the top shelves had books. Instead there were large crystals in different colors – purple and blue that sparkled as light streamed through the windows. And the shelves were covered with a gauzy cloth of red and orange. Everything was so colorful, something she never associated with her father.
He sat on the large leather chair in front of the coffee table and beckoned to her to sit on the other chair next to him. Both were slightly facing the fireplace and slightly facing each other, though she didn't remember him ever allowing anyone to spend time with him there.
When she sat down, he said nothing, and for a moment she allowed her eyes to stray again. On the mantel above the fireplace was a vase of dried roses. They were all colors – red, orange, blue, yellow, white. All the colors she'd ever seen roses dyed for the fire dancers. She pursed her lips together, ignoring the suddenly squirming feeling in her stomach. It was over. It was long over.
"Well," her father began at last, seeming to tear his eyes away from something –the mantel as well, perhaps, "Madeleine. How are you?"
She blinked a few times. That was not the question she expected him to ask. "I'm fine," she said.
He kept looking at her, his dark eyes boring into her like he expected her to say more. Finally he nodded, chin bobbing up and down. "Good, good." He looked away from her – at the roses, she thought – and then at the coffee table. It was draped in the same fabric that was on the bookshelves, only this one was pure white.
Finally he stood up, crossing his arms. "What have you noticed in the castle?" he asked, turning to face her. "You've been there over a week now."
She looked up at him and shrugged. "Nothing, really." He kept staring until she felt she had to go on. "I've learned the general layout of the place and how to effectively clean it. That's all."
He blinked a few times. "You do realize the people I've paid off to get you a job with the royal bedrooms. They don't give those positions to girls with scars."
For a moment, her blood froze. He'd just insulted her as much as he could possibly manage, and he was trying to use it as a guilt trip? She clenched her fingers together in her lap and felt her face flare. Then she remembered Prince Ivan standing up for her to the queen. The queen could have sent her away easily, spoiling all her father's plans. It was Prince Ivan that was keeping her there, not her father. He had less power than he thought.
She drew a breath. "I suppose you won't be getting a new servant like you told Adelle then," she said, raising her chin high. She wanted to throw it in his face that he had no money. That's why he married Edith. At least, that was what she assumed. She didn't know why else he'd marry a woman he never showed any affection for.
He said nothing but walked the short distance to the window, looking out. While he wasn't looking at her, she turned again to the items around the room. First the dried roses, then back at the gauzy orange and red cloth on the bookshelves. When the light played through the different layers of color, it – it almost looked like flames. Fighting the fear that stole her breath, she forced herself to ask why. Why would her father have these clothes and those roses? What were they from? She knew so little about him.
"You must have at least talked to the prince briefly," her father said then, turning to face her once again. "What was your impression of him?"
She sighed. "He seems sad. And dazed. As one would expect after losing his brother."
He looked at her with more interest now, like there was actually some sort of a purpose to this interrogation. "Did he say something about his brother?" he asked quickly.
She thought of the dresser drawers. The matching halves of the crystal. The birthday cards. But Prince Ivan hadn't actually said anything about Prince Thaddeus to her. "No," she said.
Her father sighed, half turning to the window again, head bowed forward.
She rose an eyebrow at his dismayed demeanor. "I don't understand what your fascination with him is. I have no idea what you want me to look for."
He gave another, shorter sigh and sat back down next to her. "Do you think he'll make a good king? Is he a leader? Is he easily swayed by others? Does he seem suspicious of those around him?" He listed the questions with an annoyed tone – like they ought to have been obvious to her, or maybe he was just tired of talking about it.
"It seems like he ought to be suspicious with you spying on him," she said. Then after a moment, "I wish you would tell me what it was all about. Then at least I could know whether I actually wanted to be a part of it or not." And maybe she'd tell the prince about it. She felt he ought to know.
Lord Luck looked at her with his cursory blank expression – if a bit more frustrated than usual – and then switched it to a small smile. "I simply want to know what the prince is like. To see if he's fit to be our ruler. In the future, why don't you write down a summary of the conversations you have with him or that you hear him have with others, and I'll read them over. It'll be easier than asking all these questions." He stood up again and reached a hand to pull her to her feet, which she took hesitantly. "Now then," he said, "I suppose you can leave. I'll see you to the door."
For a moment, she stood without moving, just looking back at him. She didn't understand. To see if Prince Ivan was fit to be a ruler? What did that even mean? And what if he wasn't? It was still his birthright. Maybe he'd grow into it. What business of it was her father's? And this room. The roses – the cloth like fire. What did any of it mean?
She thought of asking him a question. Anything to find out something about him. She was realizing more and more that she knew nothing about this man she called her father. He'd never spoken to her about anything in his life. But like the hundreds of other times she'd been in his presence, she decided against asking. If he'd ever wanted to tell her something about himself – or learn something about her, for that matter – he would have told her, asked her. He'd have made some effort. It was too late. She started for the door.
He followed her down the staircase. She listened to the rhythm of his feet behind her, and then they were at the doorway. She put her hand on the doorknob and glanced back at him. They were both silent, looking at each other.
"Well," he said, "I'll… see you next week then. They said you could have the same day off each week."
She nodded. Didn't bother protesting. He'd already arranged it all. And maybe if she had enough awkward conversations in his study, she'd someday learn why he had dried roses on his mantelpiece and fire colored cloth on his bookshelves. It was doubtful, but there was still some chance.
Without saying goodbye, she opened the door and walked out, shutting it just as Rafe Thornton rode up. She watched him swing off his horse and open the gate. They met in the middle of the walk to the house. He looked surprised to see her – and oddly flustered. "Madeleine," he said, running a hand through his hair. "What are you doing here?"
"I had a day off," she said, frowning at him. This was her house, after all, not his. "What are you doing here? Blair won't be up yet." Blair hated mornings. Even if she was awake, it wasn't an ideal time for visiting her. She'd be angry to see anyone. She was sure Rafe knew that. She could remember him making the mistake of showing up too early in the past and leaving without exchanging a civil word with Blair.
"I know," he said. "I just…" He trailed off and seemed to consider something. "Your… father asked me to come see him when he was at the castle the other day."
She looked at him, frowning a little. Her father wanted to see Rafe? Why? Considering her father's recent interests, it seemed suspicious.
"If you had a day off, why are you leaving so early?" Rafe asked then. Now he was the one frowning at her. "And if you're going to just come and go, why come at all? I know you don't like your family. And most of them aren't awake."
She felt her face grow warm as she looked down at the ground. Perhaps her position wasn't any less suspicious than Rafe's. "My.. father wanted to see me," she said, raising her eyes to his.
He kept looking at her for a moment, then nodded once. "Well," he said, "There it is then."
She nodded back at him. She had the feeling that neither of them quite wanted to be here, but here they both were. Maybe neither of them quite knew why. But there was a camaraderie in that. "Well," she said, "I'll see you back at the castle, Rafe." She gave a small smile as she passed him, and he smiled back.
"See you, Madeleine," he called back at her.
She walked out the gate and a short distance down the road, then started running. The sun was fully shining now, and she had the entire day off. She started toward Simon's field, welcoming a day to forget her father, forget the castle, forget her scars. A day to be free.
Rafe took his horse to the stables after Madeleine was gone, feeling a bit odd about the whole situation. He was here to see her father. She was here to see her father. Her father was most likely some sort of evil mastermind.
He wouldn't have had to come, but… the man was Blair's stepfather. He felt he should find out what he was up to. And he was curious. Madeleine was most likely in this situation – whatever the situation was – against her will. He couldn't imagine her willingly joining Lord Luck's plans. So neither of them were really guilty. It was just a strange circumstance they were caught in.
After leaving his horse in a stall next to Lord Luck's, he hurried back to the front of the house, up the steps, and knocked on the door. Lord Luck opened it promptly and gave a thin smile. "Come in, Rafe," he said, stepping aside. "I'm glad you've come."
Rafe gave a short laugh. "I'm not. But I was curious. What do you want?"
Lord Luck shut the door behind him. "Why don't you come into the parlor? We'll talk." He led the way to the room, and Lord Luck sat in a chair and he sat on the settee. They both looked at each other for a moment, not speaking.
"Have you seen Blair recently?" Lord Luck asked at last.
Rafe shook his head. "No. Not since I returned from the war."
Lord Luck made a brief murmuring sound as he rested his chin on his two index fingers, folding the ones together. "She hasn't spoken of you, either. And when you do come up in conversation, she seems quite loathe to hear about you."
He shifted in his seat. He didn't want to hear about that.
"However, she does seem most interested in discussing Prince Ivan," Lord Luck went on, glancing at him as if trying to discern a reaction. "Anything about him, she's quite eager to hear."
Rafe looked at the lord. He didn't know what he was expected to say to that. He didn't feel particularly interested in discussing the matter at all.
"She wants to be with him," Lord Luck said. "You do realize that. Should a choice ever arise, she would pick him."
"I can change her mind," he said, loudly, forcing himself to believe it. He'd get Blair back, somehow.
"I'm not sure," Lord Luck said. "You left her, Rafe. A whole year and not so much as a word from you. She desires someone more… steadfast, I think."
He looked at the man, deciding this was over. He didn't come to receive taunts about his relationship with Blair. "If you called me here simply to discuss my relationship with your stepdaughter, I don't appreciate it. I can manage on my own."
Lord Luck waved his hand. "We'll move on then. What do you think of Prince Ivan?"
He rubbed his forehead for a moment and then shrugged. He was tired of these questions. Tired of Lord Luck beating around the bush. What was his point? "What happened to Prince Thaddeus?" he asked at last. "And why are you so obsessed with these questions about Ivan? Answer me straight or I'm leaving now." He put a hand on the armrest, ready to push himself up in a moment if Lord Luck didn't say anything useful.
Lord Luck was silent for a moment. "Ivan killed Prince Thaddeus," he said at last.
"How do you know that?" Rafe asked. "You weren't there. No one saw."
Lord Luck laughed. "Do you really think it would be possible for no one to see? Just because I wasn't there doesn't mean no one was. This plan doesn't revolve around me."
Rafe looked at him and shook his head. He wasn't surprised by this information. Lord Luck had more or less told him before. Ivan almost confessed to it that day on the wall walk. But there had to be more to the story. "Regardless, Ivan didn't kill Thaddeus of his own volition. There's no reason, since he's already the crown prince, and… he's not a murderer."
Lord Luck sat back in his chair, and Rafe saw that he was going to have to figure it out himself.
"Thaddeus tried to kill him first? To take the throne?" he asked. When Lord Luck smiled, he went on, "But let me guess – that wasn't his idea either? I've seen them together, and they didn't hate each other. What did you do?"
Lord Luck shrugged. "We may have had an influence on Thaddeus. But it was his decision. He was reluctant, of course. That's why he waited to the last battle. He hoped the Ascharans would do his job for him."
"But what did you tell him to make him want to kill his twin brother?" Rafe asked. He couldn't understand. He wasn't good friends with the princes during the war, but he knew them. Thaddeus was always laughing and joking with Ivan. They got along like – well, brothers.
"Simply the truth. That he deserved the throne."
Rafe shook his head. "Why? What's wrong with Ivan?"
Lord Luck sighed. "This country… it ought to bigger. And better. More prosperous. We should have taken Aschare completely instead of making a treaty with them. If we had been the first to attack, we would have won the war. But King Nicholas wanted peace, even while we hated each other. We just sat back waited for them to attack. The Great Ascharan Invasion should have been our move."
He paused for a moment and then went on. "We could have still changed things. At the end of the war, there was no way to actually win it, with the way things stood. But some other lords and I made… an executive decision. To assassinate the Ascharan king take over the country like we should have from the start. We would need a strong ruler for that." He met Rafe's eyes. "And one that would agree to it. King Nicholas would have wanted to help them, to get them back on their feet. Ivan wouldn't have known what to do. Or he'd have simply acted like his father. But Thaddeus… Thaddeus listened to us."
"You told him he could be king so you could manipulate him into your grasping political schemes," Rafe surmised. "And that's what you tried to do with me. Maybe you're still trying; I don't know. But I'm not going to assassinate anyone for you."
Lord Luck shrugged. "I didn't ask you to."
Rafe sighed and crossed one leg over his knee, trying to think – to process everything he'd just been told. It wasn't that it was unbelievable. It was just that he didn't want to believe it. "What's the plan now, then? Everything's ruined, isn't it?"
Lord Luck gave another small shrug. "We'll see."
"See what? If you can manipulate Ivan into your plan? If you can manipulate me? And what are you doing with Madeleine at the castle? Making her some sort of spy? She's own your own daughter, Luck. Why would you want her caught up in this? She's family."
He saw Lord Luck's jaw tighten. His eyes moved to the floor. There was a long pause before he spoke. "I used to be a lot like you, Rafe."
"I doubt that," Rafe said, raising an eyebrow at this new turn in the conversation, but Lord Luck just went on.
"I used to run around the country doing anything and everything. My parents died young, so I came into my inheritance early. I had the means and will to do everything I liked. One night, I fell in love and got married on a whim to the loveliest woman I had ever met. When I brought her back here, I thought I was the happiest man alive. Then… I realized these things don't last. Love, family… all those fleeting feelings of happiness. None of it matters in the long run."
"And what does matter?" Rafe asked, crossing his arms skeptically.
"My job. My country. Land. As a lord, it's my job to make my country prosper as much as I can. I've thrown my life into that."
"Don't tell me you actually believe you're doing this for Wyndl."
"What else would I be doing it for, Rafe?" Lord Luck asked, leaning forward in his chair. He spoke slowly, and his eyes were wide, seeming almost desperate for someone to agree with him. "There's nothing else!" His arms waved around him, as if indicating the emptiness of the air.
Rafe frowned. He thought of Madeleine, Blair, Adelle, Edith. Were they all nothing to this man?
"I don't want the throne myself," Lord Luck said now. "I simply want to give Wyndl more land, more people, more everything. Tell me, what's wrong with that?"
"Something is," Rafe said, standing up. "Something." He was done with this conversation.
"If you help me, Blair can be yours," Lord Luck said. "Think of it. Her devastation at the prince's death. Her love so quickly extinguished. And you – able to comfort her. She'll realize you've been there all along."
Rafe hesitated a moment. It made a nice picture in his head. Blair crying in his arms. But Lord Luck was wrong. He was sure of that, and he would never kill Ivan. He shook his head. "I'll see you around, Luck." He started for the door and left the room. Just as he approached the door, he heard a creaking sound on the staircase and glanced up. It was Blair. His hand paused on the doorknob.
"Rafe!" she exclaimed upon seeing him. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm just… leaving," he said. There was no way he was going to explain his visit to her stepfather to her.
"Why were you here at all?" she asked, frowning.
He pursed his lips. "I just was. But now I'm leaving." Then, thinking fast, he flashed her a grin. "I wouldn't want you to become too used to seeing me around. Then it would become all too commonplace, wouldn't it?" He took her hand as she stood at the bottom of the stairs and lifted it to his lips to kiss it – but she yanked it away before his lips touched her skin.
"Leave," she said. "As you were going. I don't want you here. And I would appreciate it if you respected my personal space from now on, as any gentleman ought to." With that, she turned away from him and walked down the hallway in the opposite direction, leaving him standing alone at the door. Blinking a few times, he finally went out and walked slowly toward the stables. He didn't see why she had to be so hard on him all the time. He just wanted to have a good time with her, to enjoy life together. And he would have asked her to marry him, eventually. That was his plan for after the war. But she wanted Ivan now. He wasn't good enough.
If he could just find some way to be good enough.
